Razors Out
by Marvelite5Ever
Summary: Collection of four connecting one-shots of events and incidents surrounding Logan and his claws. Starring Logan and Victor when they're children, teens, and adults. Angsty Bromance.
1. Don't Ya Ever Do That Again, Ya Hear Me?

**Summary: This story is going to be slightly AU and so probably slightly OOC in that I'm making their brotherly relationship minutely less messed up than it actually is by making Victor a bit less evil - which you will see more in the following chapters, since this chapter is placed in 1842 only a few weeks after they ran away from Howlett manner, and so they're both still kids. **

**Rated T for blood, and for swearing in later chapters. (There will be three more chapters after this one.)**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter One: Don't Ya Ever Do That Again, Ya Hear Me? <strong>

It was morning, and the dew was sweet and cold on Victor's tongue as he lapped it off the fir needles on the sapling beside him. He was crouched down at the edge of a meadow, gaze fixed on the expanse of tall green grass that was sprinkled with tiny white, violet, and yellow flowers. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air.

There—the scent of infrared blood and rabbit fur, hidden among the scents of growing grass and rotting leaves.

Tilting his shadowed face upwind, he sniffed again, blue eyes scanning the meadow for any sign of movement, his muscles coiling tighter in his crouch, so tense his body was vibrating minutely, like a racecar at the starting line before the gunshot goes off.

There was a soft rustle of grass in the middle of the meadow, the tips of two brown ears just barely visible above the verdant blades.

The primeval instincts in his head fired and he was off like a shot, bounding across the meadow on all fours, using the claws on his fingers and toes to dig into the dark soil as he propelled himself forward, the dew cold and wet on his bare hands and feet and soaking through his ratty clothes.

Away the hare darted, zig-zagging through the grass with the predator right on its tail, gaining, gaining, gaining...

A noise. Reaching Victor's ears it halted him immediately, skidding in the soft earth.

It wasn't a scream, but a pained gasp; a whimper.

_Jimmy. _

Victor was racing back through the trees towards the clearing where he'd left his little brother even before the heavy scent of blood reached his nostrils.

Sticks and branches whipped stinging across his face, pinecones pierced the flesh of his arches and palms, trees gained scars that would later ooze slow sap from where he launched himself off their trunks, birds startled in fear and burst from the treetops like popcorn.

The scent of blood grew stronger. The sound of anguished breaths grew louder.

_No no no no no no—_

He reached the clearing with dirt and dried blood smeared across his skin and clothes, his dark hair flurried and wild about his face, crazed blue eyes darting first around the clearing for danger. Finding none, they fell to his little brother.

"Jimmy?!" Victor cried, rushing over to where the smaller boy was curled in on himself in the middle of clearing, his head bowed, chestnut hair fallen limp over his face and obscuring the tears that streamed down his cheeks from his clenched-shut eyes and fell from the tip of his nose to the earth and leaves between his knees.

"Jimmy what are you doing?!" Victor cried, as he realized the younger boy was curled around his own fists, the tips of six bone claws sticking out of his back, blood dripping thickly from the wounds, slick and dark as it soaked his shirt, his pants, flowed over the skin of his trembling, clenched hands.

With a fearful, furious tenderness, Victor took Jimmy's shoulders with his left hand, straightening the boy up even as he simultaneously took hold of Jimmy's wrists with his right hand and pulled them away from Jimmy's stomach, claws slipping out dripping with glistening sanguine blood.

As soon as the claws were extracted from the boy's body, the wounds began to heal before Victor's very eyes, closing up without a trace, leaving not so much as a scar.

The bone claws slid back into Jimmy's arms with the softest sounds of flesh tearing and then healing again.

Victor's hands were covered in Jimmy's blood as he took his brother's face in his hands, forcing the younger boy to look at him.

"Why the hell did ya go an' stabbin' yerself fer?!" Victor demanded harshly, voice laced with dismay.

Meeting his older brother's gaze with watery, red-rimmed hazel eyes, Jimmy sniffed. "I... I jus' wanted to know h-how... how much it h-hurt..." he mumbled. "To be stabbed... if-if I'm gonna be stabbin' people... I wanna know..." he couldn't meet his brother's eyes any longer and his own dropped to examine with sudden interest the brown and crimson-stained leaves they were both kneeling on, the musty scent of mildew still distinguishable beneath the metallic scent of his own blood.

That blue gaze was so intense, burning with an icy fervor that was enough to send chills down even a grown man's back. But that wasn't what made Jimmy look away—it was the painful amount of raw, exposed _vulnerability_ there, pooling like blood in the shadowed depths of those cobalt orbs.

Because Jimmy realized, suddenly, that however much he'd just injured himself, he'd hurt Victor far more.

"Look at me," Victor ordered, clawed fingers coming under Jimmy's chin and forcing the younger boy's head up. _"Listen to me."_

Jimmy looked up, the flow of tears that had mitigated with the closing of his wounds starting up with a new, tempestuous magnitude.

The older boy growled. "Listen to me, Jimmy. Don' you ever, e_ver, _hurt yerself like that again, d'ya hear me? There's enough people out there that will try to hurt ya. You don't gotta go hurtin' yerself too. Are ya listenin' to me?"

Jimmy nodded weakly, sniffling. The tears kept coming.

"Stop cryin'" Victor ordered, grip tightening on his little brother's bony shoulders; they were both so skinny, tattered and wild-eyed from the weeks they'd already spent on the run through the Canadian wilderness. And Victor knew that they'd be spending most of their lives running.

"You've gotta be strong little brother," he told Jimmy, equal parts severe and desperate, with a faint undertone of beseeching that made Jimmy cry all the harder. "Remember what I told ya? You've got to be strong an' hard so that nothin' can touch ya—so that nothin' can touch _us. _The world ain't a nice place, Jimmy. But you don' deserve that kinda pain. So don' you _ever _put yerself through that again, or I'll whip your pathetic little ass myself, ya got it?"

In answer, Jimmy threw his arms around his older brother's emaciated frame, burying his face in Victor's shoulder.

He could feel Victor's body heat beneath his worn clothing, could hear the older boy's near-silent breathing, feel his heart pounding away in his chest, fluttering like a panicked bird.

But oh, Victor was so, so warm... and Jimmy felt so cold, shivering in his blood-soaked clothes.

"Aww Jimmy!" Victor said in surprise, even as he embraced the younger boy back. "Yer gettin' yer blood and yer snot all over me!"

"'M Sorry," Jimmy whimpered into his brother's grimy, sweaty shirt. He clutched the older boy tighter. "I'm sorry!"

Victor paused uncertainly, before hesitantly beginning to rub circles into Jimmy's back, in a way he hoped was comforting. How was he supposed to deal with this?

He certainly wasn't going to treat Jimmy that way Thomas Logan—his father, if you could even call him that—treated him whenever he had cried.

The memories of pain and fear were still freshing in his mind: the memories of the belt lashing against his back, memories of the shattered glass of beer bottles in his skin, memories of being chained in the dark, blood filling his mouth and dripping from the tips of his fingers.

His little brother shuddered, sobbing against him, and as Victor was snapped out of the past and back to the present, he was overwhelmed with the desire to be able to make all of this—the running, the starving, the pain—to make it all go away. To make it all okay.

But he knew it never would be. They were different from everyone else. He wanted to be able to tell his little brother that it was going to be alright. But he couldn't.

"Yer too soft, runt," Victor said finally, with a slight snarl as Jimmy continued sniveling. "Man up already! Cryin' ain't gonna do nothin' fer you 'cept make ya look weak, you pampered li'l snob."

He waited as Jimmy made a herculean effort to slow his sobs, before he pulled away, saying, "C'mon, let's go to the river an' get washed up before the blood dries."

Jimmy nodded mutely as he followed his older brother out of the clearing and through the woods, shafts of sunlight sifting down through the leaves above them and shattering the shadows they slunk through.

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><p><strong>So, that's the first chapter of my first Wolverine fic! What d'ya think? <strong>


	2. Don't Run With Yer Claws Out

**Summary: Jimmy and Victor as teens in the Canadian wilderness. This is AU, and not at all how things are in canon, but I was inspired by Hugh Jackman admitting that he's pretty clumsy and has scars from stabbing himself with the claws when he was wearing them around the house to get used to them, and I found the idea of a teenage Jimmy being a bit awkward and clumsy before he grew into himself was an amusing idea, and something that would drive Victor crazy. **

**Rated T for blood and lots of swearing - but hey, this is Victor and Jimmy we're talking about here, after all XD **

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: Don't Run With Yer Claws Out<br>**

If Victor didn't have the fangs or the claws, he would have been considered incredibly sexy by all the ladies. He was tall, handsome and athletic, defined muscles rippling beneath his skin, visible even through his thin, tattered shirt. His features had lost all trace of childhood and were virile as all get out, and his facial hair was growing out nicely in mutton chops he did his best to keep tidy—which had meant stealing a (rusty) razor from someone in town.

Notwithstanding, he was filled out with lean muscle and moved with an almost feline grace and predatory precision that turned the heads of all who set eyes on him.

Jimmy also turned heads, except for a very different reason. Namely, the fact that though he'd shot up height-wise in the last few months, he was skinny and gangly and clumsy as a newborn foal, constantly tripping over everything that could possibly be tripped over and even things that shouldn't be, and he moved with the awkwardness of someone who did not know quite where their body was at any given moment.

Not to mention his hair was a mass of dark cowlicks that liked to fall into his face and hinder his vision, and stick up at the sides of his head, like the tufts of ear feathers on a great horned owl.

Frankly, Victor couldn't wait until he was out of that awkward teenage stage. It was damn annoying to deal with. He always seemed to be—

"Ouch! That fuckin' hurts!"

Victor glanced back at his little brother, never breaking his stride as he continued running through the forest after a deer they were chasing, to see that Jimmy, who was running with his foot-long claws out, had pumped his arms so hard that he'd accidentally raked half the flesh from one cheek so that the white of his cheek bone was visible and blood dripped down his neck even as his skin began healing over.

"Shut up, will you?!" Victor snarled at him, turning his attention back to their prey that was slowly but surely getting away from them. "If ya hadn't gone and tripped over those damned feet of yers then we wouldn' hafta be doin' all this runnin' 'cause you scared our dinner off!"

"It wasn't my fault—OUCH!"

Unable to help it, Victor once again turned his head to see what his brother had done to himself this time. Only that suddenly there was a tree where he could have sworn there hadn't been a tree before, he ended up lying on his back, listening to their prey bound off through the trees.

They'd never catch that stupid deer now.

"Goddamn it, Jimmy!" Victor growled, pushing himself to his feet to start chewing his brother out, only to find that Jimmy had both managed to pierce through his left side and punch himself in the nose with a clawed fist.

Victor just gaped for a moment.

"What?!" Jimmy snapped irritably as the flesh of his side knitted itself back together and he grew a new nose.

"How the hell do you even fuckin' _do _that?" Victor asked, almost as awed as exasperated. "A few minutes of runnin', and you managed to nearly scalp yourself, rip your cheek to shreds, stab yourself in the side _and _take off yer own nose! It just shouldn' be possibly for someone to be that fuckin' clumsy or that damn stupid to run with yer claws out!"

Jimmy bared his teeth at his older brother, trying to imitate Victor's threatening sneer, but since he lacked fangs it wasn't quite as menacing as when Victor did it.

For several moments he just growled deeply and incoherently in his throat, while Victor chuckled at his expense.

"Just shut up," Jimmy managed to grind out finally.

"When you grow out of this, I'm never gonna let you live this down," Victor grinned sharply at him. "But for now, let's just go see if we can at least catch a rabbit or somethin', since that deer got away. No thanks to you."

"Yer the one that ran into a tree!"

"Only 'cause you kept shrieking like a little girl! And if you keep insisting on prolonging this argument, we're not gonna be eatin' today!"

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><p>"Aww dammit!" Victor heard Jimmy exclaim from the other side of the clearing.<p>

Without looking up from the bow drill he was working, Victor said, "I hope ya didn't just ruin that rabbit yer supposed to be skinnin'."

"Nah, just stabbed myself through the hand again," Jimmy called back.

Victor groaned loudly. "_Again, _Jimmy?! That's what, the fifteenth time today?"

"Third," Jimmy corrected, as he walked over holding the skinned animal, giving his brother a simper. "But I've finally skinned it."

"Good," Victor grunted. "Go set it on that rock over there."

"What rock?"

"The rock that's over there," Victor growled, before cursing as the spindle flipped out of bow's string. "And I was just starting to get smoke, too," he muttered in annoyance, grabbing up the spindle and twisting it back into the string before positioning the blackened end in the notch of the base wood and holding the rock against the top of the spindle with his left hand, began once more pumping the bow back and forth with his right. So far he had burnt dust, but no coal with which to start a fire.

"There ain't no rock over there," Jimmy protested, glancing around at the dense forest around the clearing and the rocky bank of the river that gurgled and burbled in a cold river of silver mirror by them, reflecting back the cerulean of the sky with its smattering of wispy tendrils of clouds that looked thin and fragile as spiderwebs.

"Yes there is. Go find it and quit botherin' me," Victor snapped irritably.

With a defeated sigh Jimmy took his rabbit and rabbit fur and began walking over to the other side of the clearing where there were indeed some rocks.

There was another bout of profanity uttered as Jimmy tripped over a wandering tree root and stumbled forward, claws somehow managing to pierce through the lean muscle of his thighs.

Victor glanced up to see his little brother hunched over and pulling his foot-long claws out of his legs. "How the hell did ya just do that?" Victor asked in exasperation.

"I don't know!" the younger mutant cried, straightening up as the wounds in his legs healed. "I just tripped, is all!"

This time not only did the spindle snap out of the string, but the wood itself actually snapped in half as well.

Snarling in annoyance Victor stood up, saying, "Alright, tell ya what. I'll deal with the rabbit. You try to get the coal for the fire, since it's you that like things roasted anyway. If it was up to me, ya know we'd just eat it raw."

"Ya know I like my meat rare, just not _that _rare," Jimmy told his older brother in a tone that suggested they'd been over this many times already. But when the larger mutant stalked over, he relinquished the rabbit and went over to the bow drill.

"Why don't ya just put yer claws away?" Victor pointed out, after Jimmy had reached up to brush the hair out of his face and had accidentally stabbed himself in the eye, letting out a yowl.

"'Cause it hurts," Jimmy answered, frowning. "You've got it easy with yer claws. They just unsheathe like a cat's, all painless like. My claws hafta tear through the flesh of my forearms and hands coming out, and they do the same going back in—it _hurts!" _

"Don't be a wimp," Victor snorted, as he set out the rabbit fur on the rock and picked up a stick from the ground, beginning to sharpen it and peel off the bark with his claws. "And besides, it seems to me that yer hurting yerself more by keepin' 'em out, when yer such a klutz and keep goddamn impalin' yerself with 'em."

"Yeah, but I'm usin' 'em!" Jimmy said stubbornly, cutting off another stick of elderberry to turn into a new spindle, since the other one Victor had snapped in half. "I don't wanna hafta slide 'em out and slide 'em back in only to slide 'em back out again!"

At that moment as he was whittling one end of the spindle with a claw, his grip somehow slipped and he ended up nearly cutting a couple of his fingers off.

"Yer fucked-up judgment," Victor said with an apathetic shrug. He took the stick he'd sharpened and stabbed it through the dead rabbit's mouth and out the other end. "Just stop bein' so damn loud and foul-mouthed about it."

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><p><strong>Victor, ya hypocrite! Yer swearin' too! <strong>

**Two more chapters after this one :) **

**Anyways, watcha think? **


	3. Don't Ya Dare Hurt My Brother

**Summary: Switching gears a bit here! Instead of this chapter being about Logan's claws, per say, it's more about Logan and Victor's brotherly relationship. Namely, the fact that they tear each other apart but then get super protective whenever anybody else hurts the other (as observed in the beginning war scenes in "X-Men Origins: Wolverine"). In this chapter Logan and Victor are adults, and it takes place somewhere a while after X3, I would guess, except that it's Liev Schreiber's Victor. So not the blond one, lol.  
><strong>

**Rated T for gore and cursing.**

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><p>It was past midnight, and the night was a bluish, violet-tinted ivory black, a sliver of chrome moon visible through the dark shreds of clouds that covered the sky like a smoky black blanket that some beast had ripped to tatters with its claws.<p>

Crouched catlike upwind, not only could Victor hear the motorcycle thundering up the road, but he could smell the exhaust and he could smell _Jimmy—_the scent of his blood was sharp and wild, and he always smelled of cheap cigars and buried guilt. He could never really change who he was, no matter if he changed his name to Logan and went and lost his fuckin' memories.

He would always be an animal. He would always be Jimmy. He would always be Victor's little brother.

Tensile, Victor waited. If he'd had a tail, it would have been twitching. But he didn't have a tail; all he had were claws and fangs, so his anticipation manifested instead in his claws unsheathing to their full three-inch length, and him running his tongue across his pointed teeth and grinning in the dark.

The motorcycle rounded the corner speeding easily over a hundred miles per hour, and Victor launched himself and knocked his amnesiac little brother right off the bike, sending them both tumbling down a ravine and into the waiting sentinels of trees.

When their tumbling came to a stop, Logan was on top, pinning the other feral down, foot-long claws pierced through Victor's shoulders.

"Happy birthday, runt," Victor smirked at him, revealing a glint of fangs in the moonlight, before he brought his feet up, and with the claws on his toes piercing through his shoes, gouged and clawed at Logan's stomach.

The X-Man gave a pained roar and Victor pushed the him off, enough power in his legs to send Logan flying into a tree and crashing to the ground.

Victor advanced on his brother, still smirking coldly. "Miss me?" he rumbled.

"Ya know," Logan said, standing up and glaring at him, lips pulled in a feral sneer of his own, "For someone who once told their little brother that ya knew him better than he knew himself, you really don't know that much about me if ya think I appreciate these presents of yours."

Pausing in surprise, Victor tilted his head to the side slightly as he regarded his little brother, saying coolly, "Ya got yer memories back, then?"

"Most of 'em," Logan answered, holding his older brother's gaze unflinchingly.

For once in a long time, Victor's smile actually appeared pleased. Or at least, that's what Logan thought, before Victor once again tackled him.

"Then you _should_ appreciate these birthday presents," Victor hissed at him, as they tussled through the silver moonlit grass that was progressively turning black with their blood, claws stabbing and ripping through each other. "'Cause I'm fightin' ya instead of killin' people."

"Yer fucked up," Logan ground out, throwing his brother off him and into the forest, rushing after him, only to be pounced on as soon as he entered the shadows.

There was blood and dirt and bitter words in both of their mouths.

"Ya hated me for goin' and gettin' my memories wiped, but it's yer own damn fault!" Logan snarled, taking hold of Victor and tossing him at a tree, which the feral clung to with his claws, scampering up into the branches. "Yer the one that said brothers look out for each other, and then ya up and hightailed it outta the Island like a coward, an' Stryker gave me two bullets in the brain and wiped my memories. Maybe if you'd been there, I wouldn' 'ave forgotten ya, and Styker wouldn'a survived!"

The huge dark shape crashed down on him from the tree branches, clawing at his face and snarling.

"Oh yeah? Ya feel betrayed? Well now ya know how I felt when ya walked away from me in Africa! _Centuries _it'd been the two of us against the world together, and you up and _left!" _

Impaling both of Victor's hands through with his claws, Logan then forced his arms up, so that Victor's arms were crossed over his chest and Logan's adamantium claws were at Victor's throat.

"Now listen to me, bub," Logan snarled furiously, drops of his saliva landing on Victor's face. "I didn't leave _you—_I left Stryker's team. I did ask ya to come with me! It's yer own stupid pride and bestial bloodlust that separated us!"

Roaring wordlessly Victor slid his hands further down his brother's claws so that he could dig his own into Logan's hand as he forced the adamantium razors away from himself, before throwing himself backwards to get his hands off of them, catching himself on his back and kicking his legs to propel himself back to his feet.

For a few moments the two ferals just circled each other through the trees, growling and snarling like wild dogs, the noises that rumbled from their throats not sounding even remotely human.

Just as they rushed towards each other again, there was a beam of light in their eyes—instead of reflecting red, the way humans' eyes do, their retinas reflected an animalistic yellow—and two gunshots rang out, rending the night like scissors through tissue paper.

Victor heard the bullets enter his brother's body, heard the startled gasp that left his brothers lips, and though the white light was still shining blinding in his vision, the edges of his sight crept over with a bloody crimson.

"Nobody hurts the runt but me," he said, gnashing his teeth as he bounded on all fours into the light. His sight useless, he clenched his blue eyes closed and relied on his hearing and sense of smell to pinpoint the attacker; it wasn't hard—whoever it was, their breath was loud and startled and they stank heavily of fear.

Roaring as he lunged, he felt his claws meet flesh, felt their warm blood on his hands and splattering his skin, heard the life leave their lungs as he tore out their throat.

_Bang!_

A bullet pierced through his shoulder.

_Bang!_

Another bullet shot through his leg.

Turning towards the attacker, he found Jimmy already there, claws sticking out of the man's chest.

"And nobody hurts you but me," he grunted, as he locked his hazel eyes with Victor's blue ones and dropped the dead man to the ground.

A moment later and they were surrounded by government troops, all aiming various guns at the ferals, shouting for them to surrender and put their hands up, because they were going to be taken in for something or other.

"Back to back!" Logan called.

Victor complied immediately, striking a defensive position and roaring so ferociously Logan could actually hear the men around them quake in their military boots. And in that roar he could hear the malicious grin on his brother's face.

Logan wasn't grinning. But as he and Victor fought in perfect tandem, taking out the enemies in mere minutes, he couldn't help but feel complete in a way he hadn't for a long time, the empty space at his back now filled with the man he now once again knew to be his brother.

As they stood panting over the dead bodies surrounding them, veins thrumming with the rushes of adrenalin, Logan pointed out, "Ya know, compared to the injuries we deal out to each other, these men hardly even nicked us with those bullets."

"So?" Victor asked, as he pilfered the jacket of one of the dead man, pulling his hand out of a pocket with a set of car keys held between his claws that were dripping black and wet in the moonlight.

"So why did you get so upset when I got shot?" Logan asked, following his brother up the ravine and onto the road, where they found the military cars parked.

"Same reason you got so upset when they shot me. 'Cause we're brothers, and brothers look out fer each other," Victor answered simply. He then looked down with a frown and examined the keys, muttering to himself, "No Unlock Button? What kinda military gear is this, that ya hafta try a stupid key in every fuckin' car door?!"

"But you hurt me far more than they did, or even could," Logan persisted. "They can't really hurt us."

"So?!" Victor demanded, as he began walking down the line of cars, trying the key in every door and growling to himself in frustration.

"So if we beat the crap out of each other, why does it matter so much if we get nicked with a bullet?" Logan asked, and Victor was reminded of Jimmy when he was a teenager, and how he would always ask him stupid questions like that.

"'Cause we're brothers!" Victor told him, before muttering, "Finally!" when the door to a car clicked unlocked, and he opened it and swung into the driver's seat.

His door slammed. Another door slammed, and he glanced over to see Logan sitting in the shotgun seat, regarding him thoughtfully.

"What are ya doin'?" Victor asked irritably. "Go get yer own car! Or go find yer fuckin' motorcycle!"

"Nah, we're stickin' together this time," Logan said determinedly, giving his brother a wry grin. The moon outside the car window cast him as a silhouette, turning his crazy, sticking-up hair into silver gossamers at the edges. "We're brothers, after all."

"Yer _not _coming with me," Victor snarled, the moonlight on his face catching on the cold blue of his eyes. "Ya won't like the livin' situation I'm in."

"Which is why yer not gonna drive back to wherever yer stayin', an' instead yer gonna drive back to the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Logan said calmly.

"Oh no I ain't!"

"Oh yes you are!"

Snarling, Victor launched himself at his brother, and the two of the crashed out the broken window, glass shards in their spines and claws slashing at each other's eyes.

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><p><strong>Yeah... messed-yp brotherly relationship, much? Victor can be such a hypocrite. <strong>


	4. Don't Play With Razor Blades

**Summary: Last chapter! Logan forgets he and his claws are made of indestructible material and most everything else isn't, and Victor surprises everyone. Takes place only a week or two after the previous chapter.  
><strong>

**Rated T for Logan and Victor. Which is a totally legit reason for anything to be rated T (or higher), lol. **

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><p>"Stupid!" <em>Slash! <em>"Fuckin'!" _Slash! _"Brother!" _Slash!_

Growling in the back of his throat, Logan whirled and cut through a forest of trees that smelled like metal, a frenzy of furious strikes and wicked blades as he fought Sabretooth.

_Slash! _Off went Sabretooth's head. As the dark-haired head rolled to the floor, the simulation in the Danger Room faded away, and Logan was left standing in the middle of an empty metal room.

Damn Danger Room. It never could get his his brother's fighting style right.

Logan snarled to himself, at his brother, and at the entire world in general. That sadistic idiot had to go and leave him again! And who knew what twisted schemes Victor was involved in now.

And well, Logan wanted someone to fight.

With the bloodlust still coursing through his body and sharpening his senses to murderously twitchy and diamond-edged, he bared his teeth, gnashing out, "Danger Room Protocol 408743."

This time the scene that fabricated around him was a cityscape, and three metal Sentinels were chasing some kids who were supposed to be young mutants through the streets.

At least the Danger Room got the Sentinels right, Logan thought, as he ran over and hacked down one of those flashing advertisement boards to crash down on one of the robots, as the other two turned their attention to him and began firing lasers out of their eyes.

But even as he dodged and jumped and slashed and danced and tore out mechanical Sentinel guts, Logan was all too aware of how fake it all was. Sure, fighting in the Danger Room for hours on end calmed down Logan enough so he wouldn't kill someone—like Cyclops, for example, the aggravating bastard—but it wasn't _real. _The hard-light laser constructs looked nearly indistinguishable from reality, and the acoustic engines provided accurate noise level and frequencies, and the progressed waved tractor beams created accurate dust and wind effects; but it didn't smell real, didn't taste real, didn't _feel _real; not to Logan, with all his heightened senses.

No blood, no heat, no pain, no screams. Nada. It was all of the fight with none of the thrill.

He'd been at it for hours now. He wasn't sure how long exactly—he'd started in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep and couldn't walk the mansion without the urge to destroy something, and so he'd come to the Danger Room to try to burn it off. It must have been morning already, but Logan wasn't wearing a watch, and he didn't particularly care.

He'd fight till he was done (which might not be for days) or till Cyclops kicked him out to have a training session in there with the kids.

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><p>As it turned out, turning the Sentinel count up to three dozen—a number even the Wolverine couldn't possibly defeat singlehandedly—and getting nearly burnt to a crisp despite the fact that the fabricated lasers didn't effect him nearly as much as the real ones, Logan was finally done enough to relinquish the room to Cyclops and Storm when the mutants inevitably came with the kids to train.<p>

And well, Logan had been getting hungry anyway.

In the X-Men kitchen, there was a cooked steak in the frying pan. Now Logan didn't know who had cooked it or whose steak it technically was, but it was abandoned, and he was hungry, so it was now his.

"Somebody else's loss is my gain," he said to himself with a wry twitch of his lips.

Now if only he could find a knife to cut the damn thing... but the only knives that could be found in the kitchen were butter knives, and even with his super strength, there was no way he was going to cut through a steak with a butter knife.

Especially since it appeared one of the reasons the steak had been abandoned was that it was an usually hard and difficult-to-cut steak.

After scouring through all the drawers and cabinets of the kitchen and _still _not finding any knives, he stood there and glared at the steak for a moment.

"Oh, fuck this!" he growled.

_Snikt! _One of his adamantium claws slid out of the place between the knuckles of his pointer finger and middle finger on his right hand, and with it he easily sliced through the steak—only to realize that he'd exerted too much power and the blade had cut not only through the steak, but the cast iron frying pan it was in as well, and straight through the stove top beneath, in a screeching sound of tearing metal and an orange flurry of sparks.

Pulling his hand back quickly, he accidentally cut deeper down through the oven door, and the detached half fell open with a loud, banging clatter that made Logan jump back, arms flying up so that the blade sticking out from between his knuckles struck one of the lights with white-blue sparks and an electric fizzle and he crashed into the table, the wood crumpling beneath the weight of his adamantium skeleton.

Quickly pushing himself up from the floor, he forgot to put the claw away, and it cut through the linoleum tile and the concrete floor beneath.

Glancing around the demolished kitchen, he stared at his handiwork in shock. "Oh shit," he said, thick eyebrows raising as he realized that he was screwed. "Storm's gonna zap me fer sure."

* * *

><p>It was dinner and the dining hall was bustling with student's chatter, as Logan took his tray and irritably sat at an empty table as far away from everyone as possibly, his dark scowl warning everyone that he was, by no means, in a good mood, and that it was best not to bother him.<p>

In fact, everyone had been mostly leaving him alone for the past week, ever since he came back from the woods one morning with his clothing in bloody tatters and wearing an expression that warned of certain death to anyone and everyone who so much as looked at him funny.

And when he'd faced Cyclops wrath for busting up his motorcycle, which had ended with the rest of his shirt getting burned off his flesh, Cyclops had gotten three slashes across his chest, the scars of which wouldn't be going away for a while, as well as a couple black eyes, which nobody had thought was possible.

Then the snarling feral had to listen through a lecture from Xavier about not riding off in the middle of the night on Cyclops' motorcycle to deal with personal problems without telling anybody, and for beating the prettyboy up.

And on top of all that, Logan couldn't even remember the last time he'd gotten a good nights sleep.

Needless to say, he'd been in an even fouler mood than usual.

And then this day he'd already faced Storm's wrath destroying the kitchen and gotten zapped with lightning and had been about to lose his self-control and tear all the hair right out of her head when Charles happened to intervene.

So Logan was convinced that at least this day couldn't get any worse.

He was wrong—or then again, maybe he was right.

Because just at that moment there was a knock on the front door to the school, and Kitty ran through a few walls to go answer it.

Casting his eyes out the windows into the black night outside, Logan couldn't see anything from inside the brightly lit mess hall, and so he watched the doorway with begrudging curiosity to see who it would be, as he continued eating the slices of meat on his plate, stabbing them harshly with a fork before sticking them in his mouth and chewing ferociously.

Abruptly Kitty came running back into the hall with an expression of wide-eyed horror on her face, opening her mouth to say something, when a tall, dark figure appeared in the doorway to the hall, and everyone went quiet.

Logan's hazel eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, adamantium teeth effectively biting through the metal fork that was in his mouth.

The dark figure grinned a fanged grin.

"Victor," Logan growled, standing up and spitting the head of the fork out of his mouth even as he clenched his fists, razors sliding out from between his knuckles with a _snikt!_

The decapitated head of the fork clanged as it hit the floor of the suddenly silent space, skittering and rolling a few feet before coming to a standstill.

Victor's blue eyes had followed the fork's trajectory, before lifting up to his brother's face, scintillating with amusement. "Still accidentally breakin' things, I see. Are ya still accidentally stabbin' yerself all the time as well?"

"What're ya doing here?" Logan demanded. His only response to the provocation was a low, deep growl in his throat.

"Just takin' ya up on yer offer," Victor shrugged, clawed hands tucked safely in the pockets of his black trenchcoat to show that he wasn't currently posing a threat, as he stepped into the hall and the lights illuminated his harsh face and wary blue eyes. "Does it still stand?"

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath as the two ferals held each other's gazes unblinkingly for a moment, before Logan's adamantium claws slid back up into his forearms with the softest sounds of flesh tearing and then healing again.

* * *

><p><strong>FIN.<strong>

**I think Victor had to think things over for a bit, and maybe tie up a few loose ends, kill off the people was working for or something, you know... but yeah, I told you Victor was slightly less evil here, didn't I? X3 Yay for redemption!  
><strong>

**Anyways, I'd love to hear your thoughts! **


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